List of British Sea Areas as listed in the weather report for shipping on BBC Radio4 Here's a nice but big (162K) map I scanned it from the Radio Times, they managed to forget Bailey so I had to edit it in, which is why the lines and font are a bit dodgy there. Here's one from the Met Office , a lot smaller but not as pretty, but it DOES have Trafalgar on it, and it makes the Lat and Longs more obvious. South East Iceland: 64N18W..65N14W..63N7W..62N11W (roughly) Faeroes: 63N7W..62N3W..59N7W..62N11W (roughly) Fair Isle: 62N3W..61N00..58N00..58N5W..59N7W (roughly) The above 3 form a diagonal band from the coast of Iceland down to the Greenwich Meridian at the Shetlands on the northern edge, and the Scottish coast on the southern edge.

Fair Isle is 5 sided to get back into the normal squarish grid. Bailey: Between 10W and 15W from South East Iceland down to about 58N Rockall: Between 10W and 15W from Bailey (58N) down to 53N Shannon: Between 10W and 15W, from Rockall down to 50N, and including the bits off the Irish coast.

Hebrides: The bit between Faeroes and Fair Isle, the Scottish coast, 10W, and 57N Malin: Below Hebrides, between Rockall and the coasts, down to the narrowest point between England and Ireland Irish Sea: The Irish Sea from Malin down to the narrowest point between Wales and Ireland Lundy: Bounded by the south Welsh and north Cornish coasts, out to about 6.5W Fastnet: Between Lundy and Shannon, with the south Irish coast above and 50N below Sole: 6.5W..15W and 50N..48.27N, below Shannon and Fastnet Finisterre, now renamed Fitzroy: Below Sole Biscay: From Finisterre to the French coast Plymouth: The mouth of the Channel to about 8W, Biscay below, Sole to the left Portland: Up the channel from Plymouth to about 2W Wight: From Portland to a line from about 50N2E(France) to 51N1E(England) Dover: From Wight to a line matching the latitude 51N, near enough Thames: Moving out towards

 the North Sea, as far as about 52.5N Humber: Up to 54N, but loses a degree of its eastern extent halfway up Tyne: A tiny bit about a degree wide along the coast from Humber up to about 56N Dogger: Tyne to the left, Humber below, 4E at the right, up to about 56N German Bight: From Humber and Dogger on the left to the continental coast Forties: Directly above Dogger, ie about 56N..58.5N and 1W..4E Forth: Between Forties and the Scottish coast, stopping at 57N Cromarty: Between Forties and the Scottish coast, from Forth up to 58.5N or so, where it meets Fair Isle Viking: Above Forties with Fair Isle to the west Fisher: East of Forties and north of German Bight, but only as far as about 57.5N North Utsire, South Utsire: The last bit between Viking and Forties and the Scandinavian coast I appear to have listed them in the reverse order to that used by the weather forecasters.

Never mind! shipping forecast - Everything2.com shipping forecast by iain Wed May 17 2000 at 9:20:52 An item broadcast at regular intervals on BBC Radio 4 , giving information on the weather for major shipping routes around the British Isles . Something of a hangover from the golden age of radio, it is always read out by a presenter with a perfect Queen's English accent and is completely incomprehensible to most landlubber s (like me). An example of a shipping forecast would be: The area forecasts for the next 24 hours: Viking : Southeasterly 4, soon becoming cyclonic 5 to 7, occasionally gale 8, then southwesterly, decreasing 4 later. Rain then showers. Moderate or good . North Utsire, South Utsire: south or southeast veering southwest, 4 or 5 increasing 6 to gale 8 for a time. Occasional rain . Moderate becoming good.

by Ashley Pomeroy Thu Oct 18 2001 at 16:16:23 Also known as the 'Long range shipping forecast' or the 'Offshore shipping forecast', it has been broadcast since 1922 . It divides the sea around the UK into chunks, the most amusingly-named of which are ' dogger ' and 'lundy'. Before 2001 the bit to the North-west of Spain was called 'Finisterre' ('End of the earth'); it is now called Fitzroy , as the Spanish equivalent of the forcast called another area 'Finisterre'. This change was reported in the mainstream news and is the kind of thing that makes non-seagoing folk worry, as the shipping forcast is a national institution in the UK. It's nice to listen to weather reports of gales in the channel whilst tucked up in bed, and it makes perfect ambient listening. Seamus Heaney , the famous poet, wrote a poem about it: Dogger. Rockall. Malin, Irish Sea: Green swift upsurges, North Atlantic flux Conjured by that strong gale-warning voice. Collapse into a sibilant penumbra .

Midnight and closedown. Sirens of the tundra , Off eel-road, seal road, keel road, whale road, raise Their wind-compounded keen behind the baize And drive the trawlers to the lee of Wicklow. L'Etoile, Le Guiliemot, La Belle Helene Nursed their bright names this morning in the bay That toiled like mortar. It was marvellous And actual, I said out loud, 'A haven,' The word deepening, clearing, like the sky Elsewhere on Minches, Cromarty , The Faroes . You can read the current forecast here: by dr worm Mon Feb 11 2002 at 16:59:28 Because lives can depend on it, and because it might have to be listened to in bad conditions, the shipping forecast has a very strict format. There is no comment by the reader, and no deviation from the usual way of saying things. This gives it a mantra -like quality, which I'm sure is part of its popular appeal, and makes it a rock to cling to in an uncertain world. In fact, it is a great example of usability , as preached by Nielsen et al.

Thu Jun 13 2002 at 10:57:11 Understanding the Shipping Forecast The shipping forecast, broadcast regularly on BBC Radio 4 , is quite easy to understand , once you know its formula . The formulaic approach is necessary to enable it to be understood even in bad weather conditions, or when radio equipment or reception is poor. Everything, even down to the lengths of pauses for full-stops are seemingly unchanging. It is due to this that many people find it a good cure for insomnia . It is terribly reassuring in a very British way, almost a meditation for some. Preamble The preamble contains the time (in 24-hour format) and date issued. Example: THE SHIPPING FORECAST ISSUED BY THE MET OFFICE AT 1130 ON THURSDAY 13 JUNE 2002 General Synopsis Next, comes the General Synopsis , which details the main areas of low and high pressure , from which winds and other weather features can be determined. Example: THE GENERAL SYNOPSIS AT 0700 LOWS HEBRIDES AND JUST SOUTH OF ICELAND 1004 FILLING.

NEW HIGH FORMING FAEROES 1013 BY 0700 TOMORROW This shows that there are low pressures in the Hebrides and south of Iceland . The low pressures are 1004 millibars , and rising. A high pressure will form in the Faeroes before 7am tomorrow at a pressure of 1013 millibars. Area Forecasts The area forcasts give current and expected conditions for the next 24 hours in a variety of sea areas in roughly clockwise order, starting at Viking .The areas are listed in the next section. The area forcast gives, in order: Area name Visibility (Good, Moderate, Poor, also including details of Fog ) Example: FORTIES VARIABLE, MAINLY WESTERLY IN SOUTH, 3 OR 4, BECOMING SOUTHEASTERLY 4 LATER. SHOWERS THEN RAIN. GOOD BECOMING MODERATE Here we are examining the Forties area. The wind is variable , but coming from the west in the south of the area. The wind is a gentle or moderate breeze , but will move round to come from the south-east becoming more likely a moderate breeze later.

The weather will be showery, but will become full-on rain later . The visibility is currently good, but will deteriorate as the rain sets in. If conditions are similar in several areas, they may be grouped together in the forecast. This is possibly one of the biggest causes of confusion for the lay listener, as many seemingly meaningless words are reeled off: VIKING NORTH UTSIRE SOUTH UTSIRE NORTHWESTERLY 3 OR 4, INCREASING 5 FOR A TIME, BUT MAINLY 3 OR LESS IN WEST VIKING. MAINLY FAIR. GOOD BECOMING MODERATE Also, if a large area has varied conditions, it may be split into smaller regions: NORTHEAST GERMAN BIGHT WEST 4 OR 5, OCCASIONALLY 6. THUNDERY SHOWERS. MODERATE SOUTHWEST GERMAN BIGHT WEST 4 OR 5, BACKING SOUTH OR SOUTHEAST LATER. SHOWERS THEN RAIN. GOOD BECOMING POOR Sea Areas The sea areas to which the forecast applies are (in roughly clockwise order, from the north-east): Irish Sea - The Irish Sea. Shannon - The south-west area of Ireland.

Rockall - The offshore area to the west of Ireland, north of Shannon. Malin - The north-west area of Ireland, including the west-coast of Scotland. Hebrides - The west coast of northern Scotland, including the Hebrides. Bailey - The area north of Rockall, up to South-East Iceland . South-East Iceland - The area to the south-east of Iceland. Faeroes - The area surrounding the Faeroe islands . Fair Isle - The north coast of Scotland, including Orkney and Shetland. The shipping areas do change occasionally, with Fitzroy, for example, being added in February 2002 to replace Finisterre . Sailing By at 0045 The shipping forecast at 0048 is expected to be broadcast precisely on time by mariners on the night watch, and for this reason a gap in programming of around 3 minutes is always left after the previous programme. Should the schedule be overrunning for any reason, this 3-minute gap can be shortened, sometimes running straight into the forecast. The gap is filled with a piece of light music - Sailing By - composed by Ronald Binge .

Comedic Interpretation The notoriety of the shipping forecast opens it up for much ridicule and parody . Given the correct delivery, this example, by Martine Stead, would be indistiguishable from the real thing unless carefully listened-to: FORTIES, SMIRKING, VETTING, FAIR ISLE CARDIGAN. Southwest sneering 5 or 6, patronising east and west. Too good, with smug patches. GO FORTH, FISHER, DOCTOR, HUMBUG. South boring west 4 or 5, not retreating soon enough, dull becoming unbearable. Another example was an episode ( The Big Lock-out ) of the comedy series, Black Books in which Fran went to bed with a bottle of wine and a radio . She had an intimate moment with herself while listening to the midnight forecast. The reason was that she had recently discovered that an old flame of hers was the new reader, and his voice had always done things for her. Sources: Growing up with a sea-faring father. Song of the sea - Telegraph Song of the sea Viking, N Ustire, S Ustire, Forties...

Rockall: a guano-streaked, uninhabitable lump of rock Charlie Connelly 12:01AM BST 29 May 2004 The solemn, rhythmic tones of the shipping forecast have been taking radio listeners to Britain's wilder shores since the 1920s. In his new book, Charlie Connelly goes in search of the reality behind those familiar, evocative names and, here, investigates Rockall Sitting at home listening to the shipping forecast can be a cosily reassuring experience. There's no danger of a westerly gale eight, veering south-westerly, increasing to a severe gale nine later (visibility poor), gusting through your average suburban living-room, blowing the Sunday papers all over the place and traumatising the cat. The chances of squally showers, moderate or good becoming poor later, drenching your new sofa and reducing the two-year run of Hello! magazines under the coffee table to a pulp are frankly slim unless there's a serious problem with your radiators.

There's definitely something comforting about the fact that, although some salty old seadog in a draughty wheelhouse somewhere will be buttoning his sou'wester even tighter at the news there are warnings of gales in Rockall, Malin and Bailey, you can turn up the central heating and see if there's a nice film on the telly. The Cruel Sea, perhaps. Oddly comforting though the shipping forecast is, to most of us it is totally meaningless. A jumble of words, phrases and numbers that could be thrown into the air, picked off the floor and read out at random and most of us wouldn't be any the wiser. It has, however, accompanied most of our lives from childhood, a constant, unchanging cultural reference point that goes back further than Coronation Street, the Ovalteenies and even the Rolling Stones. No one, not even the most committed mariner, listens to all four broadcasts every day. In fact, very few of us make a point of listening to the shipping forecast. But it's always there, always has been, always will be, lodged inexplicably in our subconscious.

Stop anyone in the street and ask them to name as many of the areas as possible and the chances are they'll get through about half a dozen before even pausing for breath. I guarantee Dogger and Fisher will be two of them as well. Ask them how they know these things and you're likely to receive in response a gaze into the middle distance, a slight furrow of the brow and a "Well, er, dunno really . . ." For me as a small boy, when the shipping forecast came on the kitchen radio just before 6pm, it meant that my tea was nearly ready. It didn't mean any more than that; just a jumble of incomprehensible words that acted as a Pavlovian bell to my taste buds. In fact, it's only recently that the words Forties, Cromarty and Forth have stopped causing me to salivate slightly and think of Findus Crispy Pancakes. If anything, the sound of the shipping forecast made me think of being safe at home. It also necessitated at least one visit to Greenwich Hospital when the familiar words prompted an uncontrolled hunger-inspired scamper of stockinged feet across polished kitchen lino that was interrupted at full tilt by an unfortunately positioned domestic appliance.

Stitches were required. Come to think of it, I could probably blame the shipping forecast for the scar on my forehead that scuppered an otherwise inevitable modelling career. Childhood visits to casualty aside, for me the shipping forecast retains a soothing, homely aspect to it, which is strange when you think that its contents are anything but soothing and homely. But as I grew up and began to sprout hair in places I'd never considered before and began to live in places I'd never considered before, catching the shipping forecast on the radio would always be a comforting experience. The forecast itself might be telling me otherwise, but to me, hearing it meant that everything was all right. No matter how bad things got, no matter how dubious any career or romantic issues became, not to mention global events, the knowledge that the shipping forecast was still going out four times a day, regular as clockwork, meant that everything would be fine. Not, perhaps, for the good people of Hebrides when they heard severe gale nine was heading their way in the next few hours, but the great scheme of things was generally all right. Oh, and my fish fingers were nearly ready. I was up working late one night.

In my otherwise dark office, a lamp cast a pool of light across my desk, while the orange glow of a streetlight filtered through the slats of my window blind. I slumped back in my chair and placed my feet on the desk. By rights, the next line should be: "I was about to pour myself another bourbon when in walked this blowsy broad and I knew I had my next case." Instead, I was wrestling with an article about football in an obscure eastern European backwater, with the radio on quietly so as not to wake the slumbering form in the bedroom next door. As I gazed glassy-eyed at a flashing cursor on an otherwise unblemished white screen, a report came on the midnight news. The British fishing industry was in crisis - it was running out of fish. A combination of the European Common Fishing Policy, which allowed EU members wide fishing rights, overfishing of young cod and a rise in sea temperatures making breeding conditions difficult had meant that the trawlers that put out to sea all around these islands were coming back practically empty. The battered fillets dunked into the hot fat at your local Master Fryer were more likely to come from Icelandic than British fleets.

The entire industry was on its uppers and the European Union was proposing a ban on cod fishing to allow stocks to rise again. Sitting there in that puddle of weak light, I looked out of the window, where a slight drizzle had begun to speckle the pane from the darkness beyond. Trawlers would be out at sea now, hauling in nets barely half full with immature fish, the fishermen not knowing whether men in suits in Brussels were about to bring their livelihood to an end with a flourish of signatures on the bottom of a document so sesquipedalian as to induce headaches and drooling in all who attempted to read it. The clock ticked towards one o'clock and eastern European football was no more alluring. The murmur of voices on the radio then gave way to a calming piece of music, all rising and falling strings and a lilting melody, before the familiar recital began: "And now the shipping forecast issued by the Met Office at 0015 on Thursday the 17th of October . .

." There were warnings of gales in North Utsire, South Utsire, FitzRoy, Sole, Fastnet, Shannon, Rockall, Malin, Hebrides, Bailey and south-east Iceland. Brrr, I thought. Glad I'm in here. The fortunes of Ukraine's representatives in the Uefa Cup suddenly seemed far more appealing. Those trawlermen would be at sea in these gales. Homely and comforting though the forecast remained, for the first time, I began to realise that there was much more at stake here than just my feeling cosy and reminiscing about Alphabetti Spaghetti. I slept restlessly that night. Irish Sea, Shannon, Rockall Area Irish Sea began life in 1924 as Area Mersey. Renamed in 1949, it was split into two sections, north and south, becoming one in 1956. It borders Area Lundy to the south, while its northern border runs roughly from Portpatrick in Scotland to Belfast. Area Shannon is a survivor from the original 1924 regions, although it is used to cover sea now in Areas Rockall and Malin.

Shannon's coastal boundary runs from the southern tip of Dingle Bay to Slyne Head on the western tip of Galway. Area Rockall, directly north of Shannon, was introduced in 1949 and has no land boundaries. Until recently more people had been to the moon than had been to Rockall. For a guano-streaked, uninhabitable lump of rock sticking out of the North Atlantic, the pebble thrown by Finn MacCool (so legend has it) has had a turbulent old time of it. On the face of it, Rockall, which sits miles from any major shipping route, is a pretty insignificant thing. It pokes out of the sea in the middle of nowhere. It's sheer on one side and sloping on the other and, with its grey shape streaked with white droppings, it can look as if someone has sunk a giant statue of Don King into the Atlantic foam. Despite this, Rockall has had nations at loggerheads, been the focus of global environmental protests and was even a pawn in the Cold War.

One legend suggests that the rock, some 80ft across and 70ft high, is the extremity of the ancient kingdom of Brazil, while scientists claim that it's the tip of a volcano that last erupted 50 million years ago. I'm sticking with the Finn MacCool story myself, given that he's a giant and therefore much bigger than me. Not surprisingly, given its remote location, it's only relatively recently that Rockall has even been mapped accurately, let alone visited. Its first possible mention is on a Portuguese chart dating from 1550, although whatever the cartographer marked on there, he did just before getting up to go to the pub because the word was smudged. It looks like "Rochol", although the position is very approximate when compared with Rockall's true location. A Norwegian chart from a century later marks "Rocol" in a reasonably accurate position, while the first recorded shipwreck on the rock and its attendant reef came in 1686. A rowing boat full of bedraggled French sailors turned up on the remote Scottish island group of St Kilda, their gestures indicating that their ship had been wrecked against a large rock to the south-west.

As shipping traffic grew, so did the sightings and accurate positioning of Rockall. Indeed, with its distinctive shape and its coating of seabird droppings, many ships mistook the rock for another vessel in full sail. One such hoodwinked craft was HMS Endymion, which was patrolling the waters north-west of Ireland in September 1811. The ship's Lieutenant Basil Hall wrote in his journal that it wasn't a ship at all, but "a solid block of granite growing, as it were, out of the sea at a greater distance from the mainland than, I believe, any other island or islet or rock of the same diminutive size is to be found in the world. Its name is Rockall." Intrigued, the Endymion sailed close to Rockall where Hall led a small landing party, becoming in all likelihood the first person ever to set foot there. Indeed, the treacherous nature of the rock and its environs almost caused Hall's party to come a cropper.

A significant swell meant that the men were forced to jump from the rock into their dinghy and, once aboard, noted that the thick fog that had come down suddenly meant that they had absolutely no idea where the Endymion was. The Endymion, meanwhile, had managed to lose sight of Rockall in the murk. The men had no option but to sit tight by the rock while being buzzed by resident seabirds "in notes most grating to our ears". Hall posted a scout on top of the rock to look for the Endymion's masts above the fog, which eventually lifted enough for the ship to be sighted. Unfortunately, by the time the scout had made the perilous journey down from the rock and back into the boat, the fog had closed in again and they were back to square one. After several hours and just when Hall had taken the decision to spend the night on the inhospitable surface of the rock, the fog lifted and the party was rescued. It was an appropriately fraught first visit to one of the world's most remote and unwelcoming places.

Hall's ordeal had its compensations, however - the ledge near the top that represents the only flat area is known to this day as "Hall's Ledge". What Rockall does boast is an incredibly fertile fishing ground and, with the coming of the steamships in the 1860s, the area became popular with trawlers. In 1862, the Porcupine became the second ship to visit the rock, while taking soundings in preparation for the laying of the first transatlantic telephone cable. According to the ship's log, a bosun named "Mr Johns" succeeded in gaining a footing, "but not at the part where the summit is accessible". While the volume of shipping increased, so did the risks and, in 1904, Rockall suffered its worst ever tragedy. The 3,000-ton liner Norge was en route from Copenhagen to New York with 800 people on board when it struck the reef of which Rockall is the only visible part. So rough were the seas that nearly half of the Norge's lifeboats were smashed to matchwood on launching and 600 people drowned. The surviving lifeboats drifted for a week.

The incident prompted discussion about erecting a lighthouse on the rock. Clearly, however, the logistics of such a project were prohibitive and the combination of luck and the absence of busy shipping lanes in the vicinity has conspired to make the Norge the last significant shipwreck on the reef. It took the Cold War for Rockall to take on any great significance beyond a motel for itinerant guillemots. In the early days of the Iron Curtain, the British were using South Uist in the Hebrides as a firing range, which prompted the then defence secretary, Harold MacMillan, to fear that the Russians could use Rockall as a base for spying on their Hebridean pyrotechnics. Thus, the British decided to formally claim Rockall as their own. The whole thing was done with a quintessentially British attention to detail and ceremony. Two soldiers and a civil servant were taken by helicopter from HMS Vidal and lowered on to Hall's Ridge with a Union flag, a plaque, a bucket of cement and a couple of trowels.

The inscription on the plaque, which remains there to this day, reads: "By authority of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of her other realms and territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith etc, etc, etc, and in accordance with Her Majesty's instructions dated the 14th day of September, 1955, a landing was effected this day upon this island of Rockall from HMS Vidal. The Union flag was hoisted and possession of the island was taken in the name of Her Majesty. [Signed] R H Connell, Captain, HMS Vidal, 18th September, 1955." The three men stood to attention as the flag was raised, with Lieutenant-Commander Scott announcing: "In the name of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, I hereby take possession of this island of Rockall." At that, the Vidal sailed past and unleashed a 21-gun salute. And so Rockall stood, a British outpost in the Atlantic, a Gibraltar for puffins, uninhabited and largely unloved for another 25 years, until things got really interesting.

By 1971, there was strong reason to suggest that Rockall was sitting on top of a great big bubbling cloud of natural gas. The Danes, Icelanders and Irish, who'd nudged each other and sniggered behind their hands at the British playing empires in 1955, suddenly got interested and made noises regarding sovereignty themselves. Just for fishing, you understand, nothing to do with the potential billions in gas revenue. Oh no, that wasn't it at all. In response to this, however, the British government passed the Rockall Act of 1972, which made Rockall officially part of Inverness-shire (which presumably makes the guillemots liable for council tax; the fact they haven't paid might explain why they've never had their bins emptied). Events after this became increasingly farcical, especially when Britain imposed a 50-mile exclusion zone around the rock and began issuing petrol-drilling rights and licences. The best bit, though, was when, in a terrifically British move to demonstrate its sovereignty, they lowered a sentry box and two Royal Marines in ceremonial dress and bearskins on to the rock, while a helicopter flew around them taking pictures.

And this, folks, is what our taxes are paying for. When the Danes and Icelanders had stopped laughing, they reinforced their claim to the region by arguing that Rockall was uninhabitable and therefore couldn't be called an island, something that would prevent the British imposing their exclusion zone. So, in 1985, the British government flew a former SAS man, Tom McClean, out to the "island" and had him live there in the middle of the Atlantic in a pod for just over a month to a constant soundtrack of screeching birds. And David Blaine thought he had it tough in a box over the Thames. There, said the British, one of our subjects lives there. It's an island, it exists and it's ours. Take that, you chunky-knitwear sporting, pickled-herring eaters. With these events descending rapidly into farce, I can't help wondering what Prince Roy of Sealand made of it all. The Danes and Icelanders decided that they really weren't into playing silly buggers and, like the Irish, kept a dignified silence, without actually withdrawing their claims to sovereignty.

In June 1997, however, Rockall hit the headlines again when three Greenpeace activists were lowered on to Hall's Ledge with a life-pod and occupied the rock for a total of 42 days. By British criteria, they argued, they'd stayed on the island longer than Tom McClean and this made Rockall theirs. They asserted their claim by renaming the rock Waveland and declaring it a global state committed to worldwide environmental protection. At first the British responded with the political equivalent of sticking their fingers in their ears and chanting "La la la, can't hear you", but within weeks had decided to finally comply with the international law of the sea by giving up its claim to fishing rights of the 60,000 square miles of water around the rock. While Britain had to cede to international law in this case, it did point out that, because Rockall lies within 200 miles of St Kilda, it is still a British possession. For me, though, Rockall will never truly be British until it boasts a branch of Costcutters, half a dozen estate agents and a residents' association complaining that the police presence isn't visible enough.

© Charlie Connelly 2004 • This is an edited extract from 'Attention All Shipping' by Charlie Connelly (Little, Brown). To order for £11.99 plus £2.25 p & p, please call Telegraph Books Direct on 0870 155 7222.

Sea areas in UK Met Office shipping bulletins 61ï¿½00'N 00ï¿½00' 61ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E 58ï¿½30'N 04ï¿½00'E 58ï¿½30'N 00ï¿½00' NORTH UTSIRE 61ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E 61ï¿½00'N 05ï¿½00'E 59ï¿½00'N 05ï¿½35'E 59ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E SOUTH UTSIRE 59ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E 59ï¿½00'N 05ï¿½35'E 58ï¿½00'N 07ï¿½05'E 57ï¿½45'N 07ï¿½30'E 57ï¿½45'N 

04ï¿½00'E FORTIES 58ï¿½30'N 01ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½30'N 04ï¿½00'E 56ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E 56ï¿½00'N 01ï¿½00'W FORTH 55ï¿½40'N 01ï¿½50'W 56ï¿½00'N 01ï¿½00'W 57ï¿½00'N 01ï¿½00'W 57ï¿½00'N 02ï¿½10'W CROMARTY 57ï¿½00'N 02ï¿½10'W 57ï¿½00'N 01ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½30'N 01ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½30'N 03ï¿½00'W TY

NE 54ï¿½15'N 00ï¿½20'W 54ï¿½15'N 00ï¿½45'E 56ï¿½00'N 01ï¿½00'W 55ï¿½40'N 01ï¿½50'W DOGGER 56ï¿½00'N 01ï¿½00'W 54ï¿½15'N 00ï¿½45'E 54ï¿½15'N 04ï¿½00'E 56ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E FISHER 57ï¿½45'N 04ï¿½00'E 56ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E 56ï¿½00'N 08ï¿½10'E 57ï¿½05'N 08ï¿½35'E 57ï¿½45'N 07ï¿½3

0'E GERMAN BIGHT 56ï¿½00'N 08ï¿½10'E 56ï¿½00'N 04ï¿½00'E 54ï¿½15'N 04ï¿½00'E 53ï¿½35'N 04ï¿½40'E 52ï¿½45'N 04ï¿½40'E HUMBER 52ï¿½45'N 01ï¿½40'E 52ï¿½45'N 04ï¿½40'E 53ï¿½35'N 04ï¿½40'E 54ï¿½15'N 04ï¿½00'E 54ï¿½15'N 00ï¿½20'W THAMES 51ï¿½15'N 01ï¿½25'E 51ï¿½15'N 02ï¿½55'E 52ï¿½45'N 04ï¿½

40'E 52ï¿½45'N 01ï¿½40'E DOVER 50ï¿½45'N 00ï¿½15'E 50ï¿½15'N 01ï¿½30'E 51ï¿½15'N 02ï¿½55'E 51ï¿½15'N 01ï¿½25'E WIGHT 50ï¿½35'N 01ï¿½55'W 49ï¿½45'N 01ï¿½55'W 50ï¿½15'N 01ï¿½30'E 50ï¿½45'N 00ï¿½15'E PORTLAND 50ï¿½25'N 03ï¿½30'W 48ï¿½50'N 03ï¿½30'W 49ï¿½45'N 01ï¿½55'W 50ï¿½35'N 01ï

¿½55'W PLYMOUTH 50ï¿½05'N 05ï¿½45'W 50ï¿½00'N 06ï¿½15'W 48ï¿½27'N 06ï¿½15'W 48ï¿½27'N 04ï¿½45'W 48ï¿½50'N 03ï¿½30'W 50ï¿½25'N 03ï¿½30'W 48ï¿½27'N 06ï¿½15'W 43ï¿½35'N 06ï¿½15'W 48ï¿½27'N 04ï¿½45'W TRAFALGAR 35ï¿½00'N 15ï¿½00'W 35ï¿½00'N 06ï¿½15'W 41ï¿½00'N 08ï¿½40'W 

41ï¿½00'N 15ï¿½00'W FITZROY 48ï¿½27'N 15ï¿½00'W 41ï¿½00'N 15ï¿½00'W 41ï¿½00'N 08ï¿½40'W 43ï¿½35'N 06ï¿½15'W 48ï¿½27'N 06ï¿½15'W SOLE 50ï¿½00'N 06ï¿½15'W 50ï¿½00'N 15ï¿½00'W 48ï¿½27'N 15ï¿½00'W 48ï¿½27'N 06ï¿½15'W LUNDY 52ï¿½30'N 06ï¿½15'W 50ï¿½00'N 06ï¿½15'W 50ï¿½05'

N 05ï¿½45'W 52ï¿½00'N 05ï¿½05'W FASTNET 51ï¿½35'N 10ï¿½00'W 50ï¿½00'N 10ï¿½00'W 50ï¿½00'N 06ï¿½15'W 52ï¿½30'N 06ï¿½15'W IRISH SEA 54ï¿½50'N 05ï¿½05'W 54ï¿½45'N 05ï¿½45'W 52ï¿½30'N 06ï¿½15'W 52ï¿½00'N 05ï¿½05'W SHANNON 53ï¿½30'N 15ï¿½00'W 50ï¿½00'N 15ï¿½00'W 50ï¿½00'N 10ï¿½0

0'W 51ï¿½35'N 10ï¿½00'W 53ï¿½30'N 10ï¿½05'W ROCKALL 58ï¿½00'N 10ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½00'N 15ï¿½00'W 53ï¿½30'N 15ï¿½00'W 53ï¿½30'N 10ï¿½05'W 54ï¿½20'N 10ï¿½00'W MALIN 57ï¿½00'N 05ï¿½50'W 57ï¿½00'N 10ï¿½00'W 54ï¿½20'N 10ï¿½00'W 54ï¿½45'N 05ï¿½45'W 54ï¿½50'N 05ï¿½05'W HEBRIDES 60ï¿

½35'N 10ï¿½00'W 57ï¿½00'N 10ï¿½00'W 57ï¿½00'N 05ï¿½50'W 58ï¿½40'N 05ï¿½00'W BAILEY 62ï¿½25'N 15ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½00'N 15ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½00'N 10ï¿½00'W 60ï¿½35'N 10ï¿½00'W FAEROES 63ï¿½20'N 07ï¿½30'W 61ï¿½10'N 11ï¿½30'W 59ï¿½30'N 07ï¿½15'W 61ï¿½50'N 02ï¿½30'W FAIR ISLE 61ï¿½50'N 

02ï¿½30'W 59ï¿½30'N 07ï¿½15'W 58ï¿½40'N 05ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½30'N 03ï¿½00'W 58ï¿½30'N 00ï¿½00' 61ï¿½00'N 00ï¿½00' SOUTHEAST ICELAND 63ï¿½35'N 18ï¿½00'W 61ï¿½10'N 11ï¿½30'W 63ï¿½20'N 07ï¿½30'W 65ï¿½00'N 13ï¿½35'W

Question: Which sea area is directly north of Rockall?
Answer: Bailey